Robert Coover - The Brunist Day of Wrath

Now, as the sobbing diminishes (Colin will be back soon, she has to get control of herself), she sits up on her bed and blows her nose and sees that Ludie Belle is sitting there on a kitchen chair; she must have forgotten to latch the door. “Go away,” Debra whimpers, her voice just a squeak squeezing out of her clenched throat. “Please. Go away.”

“I won’t be a tiddly,” Ludie Belle says. She holds what looks like an old tattered school notebook and is wearing her half-frame reading spectacles. “My Aunt Pearl gimme this on her death bed. It’s her own way a thinkin’ on dreams. It was near all she had and she desired me to have it. I don’t hold to the belabored unpuzzlin’ a nighttime fancies, which seems to me is mostly made-up stories that don’t make no more sense than the dreams theirselves, so I ain’t never hardly looked at this since she gimme it, but after that little opry over to Mabel’s, I figgered it might throw some luminations on things, like them butterfly wings a yourn done to your purty garden. Aunt Pearl was a sweet ole thing who was always lookin’ on the bright side, much like as you do. We all got doubts about what’s gonna happen to us when we die, but your dreams a Heaven are like a way a reinfortifyin’ your faith and hopes, and meadows and flower gardens is all about tranquility and happiness and bright promises for the future. That’s how I parse out what she’s writ here, for she had a trick a dreamin’ a Heaven too, I only hope she got there. As for daisies, Aunt Pearl was simply crazy about ’em and always hopes to see ’em in her dreams, she says, on accounta they betoken innocence, simplicity, cleanliness, all them things we useta know and still hanker after, cleanliness bein’ about the most we can respire to when the years’ve rid us of the rest. Orange ain’t got nuthin t’do with makin’ babies, not accordin’ to Aunt Pearl, but signifies friendliness, courtesy, a lively personality, and a out-goin’ nature, and that sounds like you down to the ground, don’t it? Maybe she dreampt a orange daisies, too, cuz she was of the same type. And black ain’t all bad neither. If the feeling in the dream is joyful, like it is in yourn, then blackness can signify a aptitude for godly self-sacrifice and seein’ inta the future to go long with it. To dream of a kiss, Aunt Pearl says, betokens love, affection, harmony, and contentment — listen at that! — and what you’re kissin’ ain’t nuthin dirty neither, it’s nature itself, which you love more’n nobody I know.” Ludie Belle folds up her spectacles and drops them in a skirt pocket and goes to the sink to get a glass of water. “Glenda was bein’ spiteful and they warn’t no call for that, but she has got difficulties of her own. Her husband Welford cain’t stop hisself playin’ round, you probly noticed, and so Glenda’s got a natcherl gredge over most single ladies.”

“No, I…” But then she recalls certain scenes in the garden, outside the public shower and privies, here in the cabin when Welford was plumbing in the running water, once down by the creek. She always thought of it as just harmless teasing, his way of being friendly, and she was flattered by it and usually joked back because that seemed the natural thing to do and because she is nice to everybody and does not like to disappoint them. Glenda was never far away…

“Here,” says Ludie Belle, fishing a little white pill out of her pocket and handing her the glass of water. “Swaller this and see ifn it don’t perk you up a tad.”

Debra feels like throwing her arms around Ludie Belle and weeping again, but Colin comes in the door, and with one glance at her, his eyes start from their sockets in alarm like they always do and in his high-pitched voice he demands to know what’s the matter, why is she crying? “I’m not crying, Colin. It’s just the hay fever. You know, like sometimes down at the garden? Ludie Belle brought me an antihista-mine and has just been helping me with the menus for next week. Put on your working shorts and we’ll go down and pick some fresh lettuce and celery and spring onions from the garden for tonight. Also some carrots and new potatoes for the Sunday roast, and we’ll see what else is ready.”

“Fetch me up some cowcumbers and peas and slathers a young sparrowgrass, Colin,” says Ludie Belle. “I’ll see if I ain’t got the makin’s for my mama’s sparrowgrass casserole.” And she winks and blows a kiss from the door, Colin in his eagerness having already dropped his trousers where he was standing and rushed into his bedroom looking for his gardening shorts.

Pat Suggs is no dreamer. If you ask him if he ever dreams, he will say he never does. Nevertheless, he is dreaming. He is in his office at South County Coal, where he trains his Christian Patriots, and they are waiting for the Christ’s arrival. Others are also present — fellow Disciples, or maybe interlopers. It doesn’t matter. It will all get sorted. His humanist adversary, the moneylender, is here. Likewise, the excommie Red Baxter. Sent his boys in years ago to teach that splenetic troublemaker a lesson, but they came back with their own knees broken instead. Next time that won’t happen. He is now Christ’s warrior, not merely a patriotic businessman, and he will be ruthless. The moneylender is out of his water here and he knows it. He has withdrawn to a far wall and looks shrunken, a defeated man. But Pat knows he must not gloat or things could turn around. Pride before a fall. Pat knows the proverb, can quote it whole, even in a dream: Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall. He has used that line when bringing other proud men to their knees, and he will use it again as he quietly and humbly sees to the merciless scourging of the smug banker. Pat knows he is dreaming, so he reasons these things out as he goes along; that way, he’ll be rid of it all on waking up, the lessons learned, but the dream forgotten as if never dreamt. Wosznik, Shawcross, Appleby, others from the camp are here as well. Disciples or friends of the Disciples. But which one, he wonders, looking around the room, will be the Betrayer? Baxter, Cavanaugh may be enemies, false apostles, but they are who they are, nothing up their sleeves. Puller? That new Patriots recruit, Dunlevy? His eye falls on Ben Wosznik. Constancy incarnate, so he’s always thought. Not unlike the Disciple Peter. But there is something tainted about the man now. As if he were harboring a wickedness in his bosom. Or at least a weakness, which in holy battles can be worse than sin. That damaged girl. In Pat’s mind, by choice or fate, she has become an agent of the dark side. What happened to her must have been deserved, or was at least necessary. Part of the divine plan. And for her now, Ben has abandoned everything else. So what is he doing here in the mining office? This dream suggests he will return to the camp, but his presence here may only be to reveal his true role. Having figured this out, Pat decides to erase the dream, wake up, get dressed, have his customary oatmeal breakfast, and go out to the camp. There’s a meeting scheduled, a service, a Sunday buffet, plans to be made for next week’s temple dedication ceremonies.

When he arrives at the camp, however, there’s no one there. The place is a shambles. He checks the Meeting Hall: no buffet tables have been set out. It’s as though the camp has been abandoned for some time. It’s eerie, but there’s probably an explanation. The Rapture? He discounts that. They might all be over on the mine hill, but why would they go there without telling him? Have they all been arrested? If so, he’ll have work to do. Ely Collins’ death message is still hanging by the fireplace. For some reason, that’s reassuring. But then he sees the prophetic date has been changed from the 8 thto the 30 th. That was yesterday. He has missed it. For a moment his heart sinks. Then he realizes that the changing of the date is nonsense. He is still dreaming. Nearly got fooled. He wakes up again, dresses, has his usual bowl of hot oatmeal, waits until he is able to use his own toilet, and goes out to the camp in time for the Sunday morning service.